Quinn locked the door from the inside and pulled it shut behind her, hoping that the phone and the closed door made Lucy feel safe.
“Did you just lock that door?” Walker asked. He was standing in pajama pants, drying his unkempt hair with a towel. His narrow chest was bare and though it made Quinn’s stomach knot, she was thankful that Lucy hadn’t seen him half-dressed and lean, masculine and intimidating. Walker had the body of a runner, lithe and spare, but he was all man. I’m afraid of him, Lucy had said. And though Quinn had no idea who he was or what he looked like, she could ballpark a few generalities.
“Yes, I locked the door,” she said. “Lucy felt safer that way. There’s an ice pick in the utensil drawer if you need it. Just stick it in the hole in the center of the knob and it’ll pop open.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before. Is there anything you’d like to confess?”
“Just that I liked to borrow my sister’s clothes when I was a teenager. She locked her door; I broke in.”
“I like this side of you, Mrs. Cruz.” Walker arched an eyebrow, but it was a feeble attempt at flirtation.
Quinn looked away quickly, afraid that he could see the truth written across her face. That when they fought sometimes she wondered: Do we belong? Of course, she knew the answer to that question. Yes. Yes, forever. But sometimes . . . “Call me if you need anything,” she said, and was surprised by how her voice fell limp and weak between them.
Walker didn’t seem to notice. “I think I can hold down the fort for a couple of hours.”
“Just promise me you’ll let me know if she needs me.”
He slung the towel across his shoulders and put his hands on his hips. “Be careful,” he said.
“Yeah. You too.”
? ? ?
When Quinn pulled up to her mother’s house, the cul-de-sac was full of cars. The vehicles stretched around the circle and down both sides of the street, but no one had dared to park in Liz Sanford’s stamped concrete driveway. Well, Quinn had no problem doing so. She pulled in and turned off the car, then sat behind the steering wheel for a minute, watching the sun set in her rearview mirror.
How many times had she lingered on this driveway, wishing she didn’t have to go in? The tension between Nora and her parents was often thick and suffocating and JJ’s superiority was unbearable. Quinn had longed for happiness, for peace. For banter around the supper table and maybe the odd family movie night with popcorn and laughter. But the Sanfords had always spun just a little off-center, the wobble imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t on the inside. Weren’t they lovely in Christmas cards? Attractive and smiling? Weren’t they sociable and accomplished and model students and citizens of Key Lake? Well, for the most part.
Sighing, Quinn finally stepped out of the car and made her way to the back of the house. Her dress swished against her hips, her hair loose and wavy across her shoulders. She had spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready, making sure that she would leave Walker wanting when she walked out the door. Now she realized that her mother’s backyard was filled with strangers, people she didn’t know or acquaintances she had all but forgotten about in her five-year exile. Quinn felt their eyes on her, their attention direct because they were tipsy. Each gaze was a brushstroke against her skin, an almost tangible thing. All at once she felt conspicuous, exposed.
“Quinn!” Liz broke away from a group of people near the small fountain that flanked a rose garden and swayed toward her daughter, arms spread wide. “I’m so glad you came,” she said, gathering her daughter into a loose hug. Then, a whisper: “You’re late.”
“I’m here,” Quinn said. “Can we—”
“Hi, Quinn.” Amelia appeared at Quinn’s elbow and put a stiff arm around her sister-in-law. Her belly was so huge they couldn’t properly hug, and she gave up, resorting to rubbing her tummy absentmindedly.
“You look beautiful,” Quinn told her, and though she meant it, there was a thread of jealousy woven through her words. The truth was, Amelia looked like she belonged on the cover of Parenting magazine. She was diminutive, dark, and shapely, her lips full and her thick, shoulder-length hair held back with tortoiseshell clips. There was something indefinably wholesome about her, as if pregnancy had conferred a sort of purity on her that canceled out what Quinn knew of her sister-in-law’s partying days. Despite being five feet two and barely a hundred pounds—pre-pregnancy, of course—Amelia used to be able to shotgun a beer in three seconds flat. Now her tummy was almost exactly the size of a mini-keg, but instead of Bud Light it contained Quinn’s soon-to-be niece or nephew. Well, Quinn’s other niece or nephew. She swallowed. “How are you feeling?”
“Big, fat, tired . . .”
JJ came up behind Amelia and offered her a small plate filled with hors d’oeuvres. “Hungry,” he added. “Often, hangry. Hi, sis.”
Quinn didn’t move to hug him, but she forced a smile. JJ was dapper and charming as always, resembling a model in a Polo Ralph Lauren ad in a slim-fitting jean shirt and plaid shorts. He even had the quintessential cleft chin and dazzlingly white smile—never mind the prep school attitude. Quinn often longed to remind him that he had been born in the provincial backwater town of Key Lake, Minnesota, not upstate New York. She suspected that he’d be genuinely surprised at this news. “It’s good to see you guys,” she said, grasping at normalcy. “We haven’t gotten together much this summer.”
It was true. JJ and Amelia had their own social circle, their own carefully constructed lives. JJ had taken over his father’s real estate business and Amelia worked as his secretary. Nepotism be damned. It was his company and he could do what he wanted with it. Besides, they made a pretty couple, and no one ever seemed to question things that were lovely.
“This is exactly why I decided to throw a party,” Liz interjected, slipping one arm around Quinn and the other around Amelia. “Here we are, all living in the same town, and we never see one another. It’s a tragedy.”
JJ and Amelia exchanged a look, one that clearly said less family time was hardly a tragedy in their books.
“I suppose I’m feeling a little nostalgic these days,” Liz admitted. “And you will never guess who I ran into yesterday.”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” JJ said, taking a pull on his beer and looking past his mother. He was clearly bored, and Amelia tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and pinched. Quinn could tell by the way he winced and gave his wife a sharp look.
But Liz seemed unaware of his disinterest. “I ran into Tiffany Barnes,” she said with relish.
It was a name that Quinn hadn’t heard in years. Nora’s high school best friend? So what? But the air between them was suddenly brittle, chilly. Amelia dropped JJ’s arm and looked away, the set of her jaw hard and angry. JJ moved to put his hand on the small of his wife’s back, but she shifted toward Quinn and his fingers brushed empty space.